Bitter Tears and False Masks
by MelancholyCanary
Summary: Formerly 'Untitled the moment'. Read the story instead of the summary. Chapter five up!
1. chapter one

Disclaimer: I don't own PotC, and it is quite unlikely I ever will. However, I DO own any characters you don't recognize. They are the products of my own genius. Chew on that, Bruckheimer! MWAHAHAHA!

A/N: okay...this is my first fic, so constructive criticism is appreciated...oh, and on name pronunciations...

Lara: lar-uh (not lor-uh, which is spelled 'Laura')

Diamantine: die-mon-teen.

Lara

-Chapter1-

The bold, rather rude chimes of the doorbell woke Lara from a deep sleep. She kept her eyes closed, trying to hold on to the dream that was rapidly fading from her mind. It had been something that seemed...important. The thing chimed again, pestering her to return to the world of daylight. "Go away," she murmured, her speech slurred from the fact she was far from awake. She mustered enough strength to roll over on her lumpy futon and gazed, bleary-eyed, at the clock. Ten in the morning. She groaned as the doorbell rang six, seven times in a row. Muttering crossly as she heaved herself up off the futon, she stumbled through the hallway, managing to trip on various miscellaneous articles of junk as she went.

The front door was opened to reveal a tall, stoutly-built girl with fine dishwater blonde hair tapping her foot expectantly. "Morning, Sunshine." she brightly said, smirking slightly at Lara's less-than-presentable appearance. Her curly honey-brown hair was frizzy and ruffled, and she was dressed in an oversized black t-shirt that read EVERYTHING YOU KNOW IS WRONG!. Her bottom half was adorned in threadbare plaid pajama pants that had seen better days. "Mnph." replied Lara, rubbing her eyes. After a yawn, she invited the girl in.

"Okay, I warn you, when I say junk room, I mean disaster area." Lara cautioned Katherine as they made their way to said junk room. Katherine Diamantine brushed a lock of straight blonde hair out of her face. " 'S' okay," she said simply. When they reached the room, Lara felt a twinge of embarrassment. The room had always been generally messy, but her small encampment there had made it much worse. She had started on a painting, and had so far achieved close to nothing. Her futon, which lay in the middle of the room, was beneath a tangle of blankets, and, much to Lara's embarrassment, a huge, (now empty) chip bag lay open next to it. Trying not to get too flustered, she broke the awkward silence with "Well, here it is."

Katherine, having gazed her fill, tore her eyes away from the chip bag and turned to Lara.

"So...you want me to help organize?"

"That was the plan, yes."

Katherine paused. "Okay...this may be harder than I thought."

The staggering amount of unwanted stuff in the room (indeed the entire house) was the fault of Lara's father, John Halls, who, though one of the best souls on Earth, was what many people call 'a pack rat'. Mr. and Mrs. Halls were currently vacationing in Tahoe, and Lara's younger sister, Jesse, was in horse camp, so Lara was on her own (except for her aunt, who came on frequent visits) for the week. She had starting bunking down in the spare room because Jesse, whom she still shared a room with, was on Lara's last nerve, which was getting close to snapping. She had started 'camping' roughly two weeks before, the day after her fifteenth birthday. The only other living inhabitant of the room was Lara's plump pet chinchilla Twizzler, also known as Twizzy.

"Well...let's get started!"

About an hour later they started digging through old artwork, and found that there was much to dig through. Most of the stuff were prints, although there were a few original pieces. All of them, as Katherine and Lara soon discovered, had some form of mildew on them that came in varying shades of white and brown. One particularly mildewed piece, a sketch of some WWII fighter plane, had a metal frame that was sticky with goodness knows what. Another landscape was so spotted with white mildew that it looked as if it were snowing in the sunny glade. They formed three groups of paintings; "Keeps", "Possibly Displayed", and "Ask Dad if it can be burned". The last category was formed upon discovery of a watercolor entitled 'Graveyard'; it was hideous beyond description. It resembled what would happen if someone chugged orange paint and then thrown it up on a canvas, then painted on small, faint, greenish-yellow crosses with their feet.

"Hey...look at this." said Katherine, struggling to hold up a painting with a particularly heavy frame. It was a seascape, complete with ship. It was not a happy scene; the ocean was turbulent, the clouds grey and foreboding, and the English flag atop the galleon seemed to be writhing in the wind. The frame was more interesting, though; it was made of particularly dark wood, and was lavishly carved with Mayan-looking designs. At one time, it looked as if it had been coated with gold leaf, most of which had worn away so that only a few desperate fragments remained. Surprisingly, it lacked mildew, along with an artist's signature. It had the aura of something very old, something to be handled with respect.

"You hungry?" asked Katherine, who had lost interest in the painting. "There's ice cream in the fridge if you want it," said Lara, not taking her eyes off the canvas. Katherine shrugged and started toward the kitchen. Lara continued to gaze at the painting, absorbing every brushstroke and molecule of paint, trying to memorize the piece. She had a nagging feeling she had seen it before, but she knew that wasn't possible. Katherine poked her head into the room, surprised to find Lara still staring at the artwork. "Earth to Lara, do you copy?" "Roger that," said Lara, finally looking up. Katherine was finishing off the rest of the coffee ice cream, with spoon in one hand and nearly-empty pint in the other. "Wow, ever heard of sharing?" said Lara. "Hey, you never said you wanted any," protested Katherine after taking the spoon out of her mouth. "Besides, I had to lug all that stuff to the garage, so I need to replace the calories I burned."

"Hey, I couldn't have gone into the street in my PJs!"

"That's your fault for sleeping late." said Katherine simply. Lara rolled her eyes. Twizzler gave each of them amused looks before retreating into his nest.

After Katherine had gone home at about six, Lara fixed herself some macaroni and cheese (which she undercooked), gave Twizzler a slice of apple, and settled down on the ancient family room couch to watch _Gone with the Wind_. She nodded off after the first twenty minutes and descended into a deep, troubled sleep.

Thus it began.

A/N: please don't flame me...please...oh, and reviews are much appreciated. Just click the button people. You **know** you want to.


	2. chapter two

Disclaimer: Don't own it. Enough said.

A/N: okay...many thanks to alexwacrap, me first reviewer! You get a rum flavoured cookie! Also, to those few who read the default chapter, I know it's confuzzling, but hopefully the pieces will come together...

Names:

Adina: uh-deen-uh

Nathaniel: nuh-than-yul

Adina

-Chapter 2-

I dared to glance at the clock; it was shortly before midnight. A deafening silence lay over the place, interrupted only by the muted scuffling of a servant's feet on the marble. The manor felt empty and alone without the constant noise of the children romping about. I sighed, checking that my dress was free of wrinkles. I resumed staring at the door, the door that should have been opened by my husband over an hour ago. It didn't budge. _A watched kettle never boils,_ my mother had told me. This may be true, but I wanted to greet Nathaniel right when he came through that door. I hadn't seen him for months.

A servant, whose name I misremembered ( I believe it was either Mary or Marie) came through the hall, her arms laden with neatly folded linen. "Is there anything I can get you, m'lady?" she questioned, her mousy features drawn into a look of concern. "oh, no that's quite alright." I said to the questioning servant ( I'm almost sure her name was Marie now that I think on it). She gave me one last glance before hurrying up the stairs. I turned and continued to stare at the door.

After what seemed like an eternity, I heard the telltale commotion of a carriage pulling up. Thoughts raced through my mind; _What if he had died in a sea battle, and this was merely some messenger here to give me the news?_ I shook my head to chase the vile thoughts from my mind, my dark, carefully styled curls bouncing as I did so. I nearly wet myself as I saw the door start to open. And there he stood, very official in his blue Navel uniform, alone save for the cab driver who was collecting his fare. I smiled politely at the cabby as he left.

When the door was shut, it was just the two of us, alone in the parlor. "And how is Mrs. Ashcroft?" he asked with a wink. I grinned. "Mrs. Ashcroft does as well as she can." After a quick embrace, he started up the stairs. "Oh, Nate, I almost forgot—" I really hadn't forgotten anything, but I desprately wanted to talk to him. He turned and gave me another boyish wink. "That's _Commodore _Nate to you, young missy!" I laughed in spite of myself. I did a mock curtsy, which was rather difficult due to my corset and the stiff material of my dress. "Terribly sorry, _sir,_" I said. He chuckled, and came back down to the parlor. "Alright, Adina," he said, "After almost nine years of marriage, I can tell when you want to talk. What's on your mind?" I avoided the question. "Milo was right sore when you left. He had a fit, and it took both of his nursemaids to calm him." "Always was a rebel," said Nate thoughtfully. A few strands of brown hair had escaped his usually neat ponytail. He took off his hat and lay it on a table. He gazed at me with deep gray eyes; a child's eyes. "Is Bethany practicing her embroidery?" "Yes, she's goten mush better." He suddenly looked very tired. "Well if that's all, I think I may retire to bed." I nodded, the question still burning in my mind. He started up the stairs again.

I couldn't take it anymore. "Have you caught that Sparrow fellow yet?" I asked in what I hoped was a light tone. He stopped on the stairs, pondering the answer. "Last I heard he was in Port Royal trying to steal himself a ship. Bloody pirate." "Ah," I said. "Is he still alive?" Nate nodded and continued to ascend the stairs. I waited until I heard the bedroom door shut before breathing a sigh of relief. So, my brother was still alive after all.

"_Blast, I'm already awake!"_

"_That was for the smell."_

A/N: though the story **still** doesn't make sense, a review or two would be nice...and don't worry, the next chap will explain a lot...


	3. chapter three

Disclaimer: No, I don't own PotC. Crazy, I know.

A/N: Thank you to everyone and anyone who has reviewed this story so far. sends cookies Also, I know this story is confusing, but bare with me, pieces are gonna come together...

Lara

Chapter three

Lara continued to stare at the ceiling. The din of pots and pans being moved about was a sure sign Aunt Ivy was making breakfast. Lara blinked, thinking about her dream. The couch where she had fallen asleep was immensely uncomfortable, but she lay as still as possible, afraid any sudden moves would make the scene evaporate. A feeling of anxiousness lay over her, like a bad aftertaste. She had been very worried about something. The worries had been eased slightly, but dread still gripped her stomach. There was a woman with dark hair, and a dress that looked colonial. A man had worn a tri-cornered hat. The scene had evidently happed many years ago, if it had happened at all.

Lara scolded herself. _If it had happened at all? Nonsense. It was a dream, for goodness sake. It couldn't of happened. It just...couldn't._

_But it had seemed so real..._

_Most dreams do._

_But this was different._

_Oh? And how's that?_

_I can feel it in my gut. It was real. _

_In your gut? How do you know you're not just hungry? You haven't eaten yet. That could be it. _

_But it's not!_

_How do you know?_

While Lara had been silently arguing with herself, she didn't hear her aunt calling to her.

"Sorry, what?" she asked, sitting up and abandoning the quarrel.

"I said do you like French toast?" her aunt shouted from the kitchen.

"Sure," answered Lara, getting up from the couch. However, she still couldn't shake the feeling of dread that hung over her like a wet blanket.

Her aunt glanced at her as Lara shuffled into the kitchen.

"You alright, Pokey? You look a bit peaky."

"I'm fine," Lara lied. The pet name, combined with the pleasant aroma of spice that saturated the kitchen had made her feel better, though not much.

Her aunt quirked an eyebrow. "You don't look fine," she said, skepticism written in every line of her aging face. "How about I fix you some tea? That always helps me feel better."

"Aunt Ivy, I'm fine, really." protested Lara, but her words fell on deaf ears. Her aunt immediately busied herself into making the tea.

"Is chamomile good?"

"Do we have any orange spice?"

" 'fraid not"

"Chamomile it is, then."

As the pair sat sipping their tea and nibbling their toast in silence, Aunt Ivy studied Lara from across the table. Something was troubling her niece, no doubt about that. Finally Lara gave in. "I had a dream last night," she said lamely. Ivy set down her mug of tea.

"Oh?"

"Yeah," said Lara. She had no choice but to continue. "It wasn't really a nightmare, and it really didn't seem like a dream. I mean, nothing seemed out of the ordinary...it was really like I was there."

"And where were you?"

Lara thought for a moment.

"I think it was a mansion or manor or something along those lines."

"Modern?"

"I don't think so. The people where dressed in a kind of Colonial style."

"What did these people look like?"

"There was a woman with dark hair, olive skin, and dark eyes. On the petite side. And a guy who sounded and looked English. Brown hair, I think."

Ivy's expression changed rather suddenly. Her face went blank for a moment, then hardened. Her questions where sharper and her speech faster.

"Did they speak?"

"Yeah."

"About what?"

Lara flailed for a minute.

"I can't remember."

"Try."

"The woman was worried about something."

"And?"

"The guy was...coming home! That's it! He'd been away for a really long time, and he was coming home!"

"Was she happy to see him?"

"Mmm-hm."

"What where the people's names?"

"I have no idea."

"None whatsoever?"

"I don't think they said."

Her aunt nodded and lay back in her chair. "And I thought it wouldn't happen," she said to herself.

"What?"

"I didn't think you'd get it."

Lara hated when her aunt was vague.

"Get what?"

"The ability."

" 'Ability' ?"

Her aunt nodded.

Lara was about to ask "And what might this 'ability' be?", but she didn't have the chance, for at that moment she fell off her chair in a deep swoon.

"_Funny old world, isn't it?"_

A/N: okay, review time! C'mon...the next chapter depends on it...


	4. chapter four

Disclaimer: I don't have permission to be writing this. Don't sue me.

A/N: hmm...more reviews would be nice...

Name(s):

Jacques: Jay-kweez

Rosalyn: Roz-uh-line (can also be Roz-uh-lin. It's up to you.)

Cicada: seh-kay-de (a kind of cricket-like insect)

Adina

Chapter four

"Mummy, is this good?"

Bethany stared up at me, her fawn-like eyes beseeching. The handkerchief she had been toiling over for the last hour was in her left hand, her needle and embroidery floss in her right. I took the hankie, handling it as if it were fine glass. I examined it front and back. The stitches on the front where sloppy and loose, and the back was a mess of knots. However, Bethany was still an amateur (she was only five years of age), and I didn't want to discourage her.

"It's marvelous, darling." I purred, tousling her silky dark curls.

Bethany positively beamed with pride. "It's an orchid," she said proudly, pointing with an olive-skinned finger to the vague mass of purpley thread in the center of the hankie.

"And a very beautiful one at that, Beth." I said, handing the hankie back to my daughter.

Quite pleased with herself, Bethany skipped back to her favorite chair in the nursery. The nursery was possibly my favorite room in the house; it was a cozy, well-lit room, its floor strewn with various toys. And it was where my children spent most of their time. I could only spend one hour with them each day, which saddened me greatly. Between entertaining guests, going to ceremonies and parties, and sleeping, there was just no time. I would gladly have forfeited entertaining guests nearly every day to spend more time with Milo and Bethany, but that would be looked down upon. Besides, I was desperately trying not to draw attention to myself.

My marriage to Nathaniel had raised more than a few eyebrows; a lower-class girl had no business marrying a member of the gentry, especially a lower-class girl that was not even English. I often found that my Moroccan blood worked against me, no matter how much I tried to disguise it; I powdered my face to pale my dark complexion, but it was a poor mask to hide behind and fooled no one. I eventually gave up trying to change my outer appearance and decided focus on my behavior. I took great pains to become a lady-- I learned embroidery, flute, and harpsichord; I taught myself French and dabbled in Italian; I mastered all the rules of etiquette; and I learned to speak like a well-bred woman, abandoning the slang of my childhood. I was secretly very proud of my achievements.

As I reflected, Milo stormed into the nursery. His cherubic mouth was drawn into a scowl, and his brow was furrowed. He had a wooden toy soldier in his small fist, and his smoke-colored eyes flashed fiercely. He stormed up to Bethany, who was playing with one of her numerous exquisite porcelain dolls and had her backed turned to him. He then briskly hit her. She immediately started to cry.

"Milo!" I cried, leaping from my seat. He looked triumphant.

"Milo Jacques Ashcroft, you are _not_ to hit your sister! I expected better from a boy of seven!" I scolded, gathering a wailing Bethany in my arms. "Your father is going to be very upset when he hears of this! I am highly disappointed in you! You will go without supper tonight!"

Much to my distress, Milo looked like he might cry at any moment.

"Mummy, she started it!" he said, tears welling in his eyes. "She broke Lieutenant Morris! Look!" Milo uncurled his fist, revealing that the toy he was carrying was snapped clean in half. He started to bawl loudly.

"Oh, Lordy Lou," I muttered wearily, feeling a bit overwhelmed.

Right on cue, one of the children's nursemaids, Rebecca, came bustling in. She picked up the weeping Milo without a word and gave me a questioning look, as if to say 'Want me to take the other one?' Bethany's tears were slowing, and as a result she was starting to hiccup. I shook my head. Rebecca shrugged and left the nursery, carrying Milo with her. I turned to Bethany.

"Bethany, did you break Milo's toy?"

She hiccuped and slowly nodded. I sighed.

"You are _not_ to touch your brother's belongings, and the same goes for him touching _your _belongings. Sa—am I clear?" I had almost said 'savvy'. I definitely needed some rest.

"Milady, you have a visitor." said a cautious voice.

I tore my eyes away from the window and acknowledged the servant who was poking her head through the doorway. "I will be down soon," I told her. She nodded and scurried off. I resumed staring out the window.

The island of Santa Veronica was truly a beautiful place; its lush forests and golden sands made it an Eden of sorts. It was four o'clock, and the Caribbean sun shone determinedly down on the island and it's inhabitants. I idly fingered the hem of my dress, admiring how the sunlight caught the fabric and made it shine. The deep teal of the silk reflected the color of the sea. I gazed wistfully at the horizon. My brother was on that sea now, somewhere off in the distance, seeing places, meeting people...

I pulled myself out of my daydreams and started toward the door of the bedroom, knowing Mrs. Violet Wells was not one to be kept waiting.

"How are you, Adina?" Violet greeted me with her usual feisty grin as I made my way down the staircase."I am well, thank you, Violet." I said graciously. I perched on the edge of a richly embroidered chair as a servant brought a tray of tea and sweets. Violet waited until the servant had poured the tea and left before she started talking in a low, hushed tone. Violet liked nothing better than to sit and exchange gossip. I listened intently.

"Do you remember Elizabeth Swann? That one governor's daughter?"

I nodded. "Was she the girl who fainted while she was dancing with some lieutenant? At Lorraine Flynn's seventeenth birthday celebration?"

Violet grinned wickedly. "The very same one."

"What about her?"

"You where invited to Norrington's little ceremony?"

I nodded. Nathaniel and I had been invited, but Nathaniel was off at sea, and I wasn't particularly fond of James, soI declined.

"Apparently that Sparrow fellow they've been chasing showed up at the party."

I felt my stomach lurch horribly. What was Jack thinking?

"What happened?"

"He tried to kidnap Swann!"

"The governor?"

"His daughter!"

"How's that?"

"They tried to arrest him when he pulled into port—they don't even know how he got there, there wasn't a strange ship to be seen—and while they tried to catch him, he took MissSwann hostage! He had a knife to her throat and a pistol at her ear, saying he'd shoot if they didn't hand over one of their ship's t'him!"

"What did they do?"

"They coaxed him into leaving Elizabeth unscathed, but when they tried to catch him, he ran. He ended up at some blacksmith where they caught him there."

"He's in the slammer now?"

"The who?"

"Is he in prison?"

"They locked him up, yes, and he hasn't managed to escape...yet. But it gets better."

"How's that?"

"You've heard of the _Black Pearl_?"

I paused for a moment. Heard of it? Last I heard, Jack had been _captain_ of that damned vessel. But Violet had said there had been no strange ships in the harbor when Jack had come, so...

"There are more myths surrounding that ship than any other, I think. Supposedly it's crewed by the damned and moves with unnatural speed. "

"Everyone knows that, Vi."

"Well, apparently,the _Pearl_attacked Port Royal the very same day."

"What of Sparrow?"

"The piratesleft him locked in his cell."

"Why?"

Violet shrugged. "The pirates that attacked the fort didn't like him, I suppose."

I paused, absorbing the information.

"Who did you say the captain of the _Pearl_ was?"

Violet pondered this for a minute. "It's on the tip of my tongue...oh, _what_ is it..."

Her face contorted in thought. It suddenly lit up.

"Barbossa! That's what it is!"

I dropped my teacup, which shattered on the marble floor.

"Are you feeling well, Adina?" Violet asked me, looking worried and alarmed.

"Oh yes, I'm fine," I said in a strained voice, giving a false smile. Violet gave me a suspicious look as a servant swept up the shards. She glanced at the clock and exclaimed that she must be going, she was expecting company. I watched until the front door shut behind her, and then I sank deeply into my chair with a sigh, thinking of my brother and his ill fortune. Well, technically he was my half brother; my father had been an Irish innkeeper, whereas his father had been a Frenchman of rank unknown. I was three years his senior. However, we shared a mother, and we had spent our childhood together, growing up as urchins on the seedy streets of Tortuga. We had chosen different paths, though; I masqueraded as a lady in order to marry my love, Nathaniel Ashcroft, while he had become a mariner to be closer to his love, the sea. I had not seen him in years, and I still remembered when I first learned he would become a sailor.

I had been sixteen and old enough to fend for myself and look after my little brother. He had been thirteen, still a boy, his voice still in girlish treble. He had put on sailors clothing, and when I first saw Jack I thought he had stolen them off some unfortunate drunkard. I laughed when I saw him.

"And what, pray tell, are you doing with those?"

He stuck out his chin in defiance.

"I am becoming a sailor, madam, and no one can stop me."

"Not even Mother?" I teased.

"Not even Mother. I am old enough to make my own decisions, Adina Rosalyn, and I want to go out to sea."

This surprised me.

"Jack, you are _far_ too young!"

"I am not! I have already signed a compact with the captain of the _Mary-Anne_, and I sail tomorrow!"

"Jack-"

"I am not a child anymore, Adina!"

"You know nothing of the sea! You will die within a week!"

"I will learn! And if I die, so be it!"

Before I could argue further, he ran off down the alley, nearly tripping on his new clothes. I sat down on a barrel and cried.

I retired into my bedroom, taking a last look out the window. There was a tiny black dot out on the horizon, a ship coming to port. I washed my face and collapsed on the bed. The gossamer drapes of the bed floated like mist in the breeze coming through the window. Acicada chirped somewhere in the distance.

I must have fallen asleep, because I woke later to a disatant booming. A servant unceremoniously burst through the door. She had been shot; blood oozed from a hole in her chest. Her eyes were wild with terror. "P...pirates!" she gasped before collapsing onto the carpet. A crimson pool formed where she lay while I stared numbly in shock, oblivious to the figure coming toward me. I heard something heavy collide with my head and knew no more.

"_Lovely singing voice, though. Eunuch."_

A/N: I don't know if thiscounts as a cliffie, but I gave you a nice long chapter anyway. Remeber, Capt'n Jack says: "Leave a review and you could win a date with me, the dashing Captain Jack Sparrow!"

...well, not really. But you get it.


	5. chapter five

Disclaimer: I didn't own PotC in chapter four, I don't own it in chapter five, and I won't own it in chapter six. Sa—am I clear?

A/N: yes, well...this one is short, I know, but it's that explanatory chapter you've been waiting for. Read on.

Lara

Chapter five

Lara woke up with a blanket tucked around her, an icepack on her forehead, and the worst headache of her life. Her aunt hovered over her expectantly.

"How long have I been out?" she asked, tenderly rubbing her pounding head. She felt feverish. "Long enough." said Aunt Ivy. Lara groaned, wishing that her aunt was a little less vague. Lara tried to sit up, but she quickly found that her spine had turned to jelly; she fell back down and steamed in frustration. Her aunt had left the room and was trying to dig something out of the freezer.

"What 'ability' did you say I had?" asked Lara, propping herself up on her elbows.

"Pokey, you're out of ice cream." her aunt called from the kitchen. Lara scowled. Was it impossible to get a straight answer from this woman?

Her aunt glided into the room, settling herself in a chair across from Lara.

"You," she said, "are a Teller."

"I don't work at a bank, Aunt Ivy."

"Not that kind of Teller."

"..."

"A Teller as in Storyteller. A Historian."

Lara gave her a blank stare. Aunt Ivy sighed.

"Tellers are mediums for people whose names have faded into oblivion...people who don't want to be forgotten and have."

"I'm guessing these people are dead."

"The spirit never dies, Lara; but yes, they are no longer among us."

"How do you become a Teller?"

"All Tellers naturally have the ability of Contact, as do you and I. One becomes a Teller when they find a valued possession of a Subject who wants their story told and are searching for a Teller."

"Two questions: a 'Subject'? And what's Contact?"

"a subject is the one who is trying to tell you their story."

"Ah."

"The ability of Contact is being able to receive the Visions being sent to you via the Subject."

"Okay..."

There was a pause. Finally, it was Lara who spoke up.

"What do you mean by 'valued possession'?"

"It can be anything that was dear to the person. I once became a Teller for an British professor from the 1800s when I found his monocle at a garage sale."

"The painting..." Lara whispered.

"Sorry?"

"I found this weird painting a few days ago. I t must have been Adina's."

"Who?"

"Adina Ashcroft." said Lara as if were obvious.

It was Aunt Ivy's turn to give Lara a blank stare. Lara gave her Adina's biography as far as she had learned it. Aunt Ivy listened intently.

As Lara made a move to get up, her aunt gently eased her down. "I would stay in bed if I were you," said Aunt Ivy. "You're likely to black out again."

"Am I going to be blacking out every five minutes for the rest of my life!" asked a horrified Lara. Her aunt shook her head. "When Adina's finished with her story (which you should be writing down, by the way, or else her efforts will be proven fruitless) she'll release you. You'll be black out-free for quite a while, or at least until your skills as a Teller are needed again."

Lara was about to ask how long 'quite a while' was, but, exhausted and not feeling particularly resistant, she succumbed to the blackness that proceeds a Vision and knew no more.

"_Human hair. From my back."_

A/N: ...reviews...cough...I... need...wheeze...re...choke ...view...s...wheeze...

Please note that this may be the last update in a while...evil teachers trying (and succeeding) to smother me in homework. Ugh.

To Jolteon Bringer of Wolves: sorry 'bout the confusion...the story didn't load up right. When she's talking with Jack is a memory, and she's back in her present time when she'sin her bedroom. Sorry for the confusion! sends cookies

To alexwacrap: okay, **hopefully **this chapter explained most of the confusing stuff, so if you're still puzzled, drop me a review with your question. Or just drop me a review. sends cookies


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